Voltron AU Oneshots
by AzumeRiver
Summary: A collection of OneShots for Voltron! Feel free to give me ideas of AUs and ships and stuff.
1. Chapter 1: Klance

***coughs* Ehem. So this is going to be a collection of one-shots, AUs and other short stories between everyone's favourite space team. Feel free to comment a ship/character/prompt thingy you want me to write! This is for fun, so don't take it too seriously. The Ship/Theme will be the title of the chapter, if you were interested. I don't have a particular ship, so ,like, any is open.**

 **\- Azume**

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 _Klance AU._

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Keith put his head in his hands, burrowing his face into the warm red sweater he had only put on because he was cold. It was made of the fluffiest fabric, and was perfect burrowing material, thick and soft. The sweater was long on the arms, and he had tried and failed at rolling up the sleeves, only to feel them slide down again and hang at his fingertips. His head was comfortably nestled in his hands, and although the sweater provided warmth and fluff, it failed to block out the vibrations resounding through the floor and onto his desk, rattling the wooden surface. His pencils rolled to the side, sliding off the smooth desk. His textbook - filled with crumpled pieces of paper and hastily scrawled study notes - managed to crawl past his head too, falling to the ground with a heavy thump. The sound was nothing compared to the loud music blaring violently from the downstairs apartment; The textbook's feeble thump was silent in relation to the earthquake sounding from below.

Keith grit his teeth, irritated and annoyed and drained and tired and fed up. It was 3AM. Keith was trying to study for the physics exam he had tomorrow, and his damn neighbour couldn't wear headphones.

 _Who plays Shakira at 3 in the morning?_

It wasn't even like the music was bad. Heck, Keith loved Shakira, and enjoyed her upbeat style and heavy voice, sprouting exotic lyrics in Spanish. It was just that at 3AM, he had to draw the line. Shakira was great, but not if she was going to distract him from his studies. He had a test tomorrow, and he _needed_ to get his definitions memorised and known off by heart if there was even a minute chance at him attempting to get a B in the exam.

When Keith put his head in his hands (And enveloped himself in his sweater) he had expected to get at least half a moment of quiet, a second of space for him to think and memorise the next equation. But _no_ , his extremely ignorant and loud neighbour - with a fairly good taste in music - had to go and play Shakira. Now Keith could barely hear himself think, and was itching to sing along to the song. He didn't even know which song it was, but the vibrations were rapidly paced, and Shakira's voice was springing Spanish desperately like her life was at risk. She implored her listeners, calling for them to join in, to sing along. All Keith wanted to do was revise and study, but there was no chance of that now.

His textbook was already on the floor, Keith reasoned with himself. He could revise the next day. The day of the test.

He had to get his equations memorised. Keith pushed his dark hair from his eyes, and set his jaw. He pushed himself off from his desk, his revolving chair spiralling towards his bed in a swooping arc. Keith fell onto the soft surface of his mattress, so warm and inviting. But he couldn't sleep now, he had to finish studying, and to do that he had to confront his neighbour.

Keith didn't like confronting people, and tended to turn away from problems instead of facing them head on. The main reason for this was that he always seemed to blame himself - as his rash and hot-headed actions were usually at fault - and internalize his anger. When he was eventually forced to make a decision, or confront somebody, Keith extracted all of the anger out from him, lashing out cruelly at whoever was witnessing it. Keith then turned stone cold, and turned away before the witness could see the guilt written clearly across his face. He never confronted people, because he knew how he'd react. He'd most likely get angry at the neighbour and end up breaking/smashing something.

But Keith had to. It was 3AM, and the music's volume was deafening.

He reluctantly got off his mattress, and grabbed his keys from where they lay at the nightstand next to his bed. Keith couldn't be asked to retrieve his phone from the other side of the room, and proceeded to skip that necessity, pulling on his shoes instead. The music was still blaring mercilessly, and Keith had to physically restrain himself from grabbing his sound cancelling headphones. They were on the other side of the room as well, so it didn't take much internal convincing.

Keith slowly made his way to the door from his room, and into the dark hallway leading out from there, and out of the painted red front door. The apartment complex was small and homely, and the people mainly kept to themselves; it was just as Keith liked it. His neighbour was new, and had brought a new kind of life to the building it had severely lacked before. The new neighbour boomed music throughout the day - luckily Keith liked all the songs he chose - and cooked delicious gourmet foreign dishes on the weekends, wafting the rich smells purposefully up through the thin floors, teasing all of the other college inhabitants who lived on store bought meals for one. Keith walked briskly through the hallway until he reached the narrow staircase, and flew down the steps three at a time. His heartbeat was pounding in his throat, and he was overwhelmed with the frenzied rush that came with knocking on a stranger's door to complain about them blasting your favourite artist's playlist far too loud at 3AM when you are trying to study.

Keith left the staircase a floor down, and easily located the source of the music. Most of the inhabitants surrounding the new one had left, so the hall was completely empty and painstakingly bare. Except it wasn't. The music filled the air, soaking up rich tunes and solid baritones as the melody made its way around the hall. Keith felt himself bouncing on the balls of his feet, drawn to the music like a moth to a flame. He wouldn't be caught dead dancing though, so he just subtly tapped his foot along to the beat as he raised a fist at the door.

Keith knocked once, twice, three times.

There was no reply for a moment, and then the music toned down to a faint hum, and feet could be heard pattering across the wooden floorboards from the other side of the door. Keith stood slightly taller, and blew his hair from his eyes, wondering how he looked. A short, mullet-haired boy wearing an oversized red sweater, skinny black jeans and navy converse staring at a stranger. At 3AM, demanding for his favourite artist's music to be turned off so he could cram last minute for his upcoming test.

When Keith had been expecting an edgy just-adult like himself, he was surprised to see another man of his own age towering above him. Yes, the boy was tall. He was long and lanky, and was wearing comfortably embarrassing pyjamas, consisting of bunny slippers, an anime tank top and checked blue pyjama bottoms. The boy was well toned, and not a bad looker with tanned skin, chocolate brown wide eyes and cropped short brown hair.

"Did y'need anything?" The boy said happily, his face splitting into an easy grin.

Keith took a step backwards, and stared up at his mysterious neighbour. It took him a moment to find his voice, and after a slightly awkward cough, Keith mumbled; "Can you tone it down a bit?"

The boy's face flooded with guilt, and he looked away, rubbing the nape of his neck. "I'm sorry," He said in a rush. "I just couldn't sleep and felt like I needed some cheering up and Shakira always makes me feel good especially when I'm not cooking or anything-"

Keith silenced the boy with a dead stare. "It's 3AM." Keith stated blankly, deadpanning the boy's exclaim of innocent surprise.

"Really?!" The boy said, a gasp evident in his tone. "I'm so sorry!" He averted his eyes to the ground, and his face darkened. The boy turned away from Keith and began to edge his way back into his apartment. "I guess I'll turn it off now." He said quietly, nodding his head in farewell to Keith.

Keith's breath caught in his throat as he heard a familiar riff flowing from the boy's room. The deep bass, the upbeat tune. Keith knew that song like he knew his own soul. He instinctively reached out a hand and gripped the boy's arm, holding him in place and stopping him from closing off the music.

"What-" The boy began nervously, cut off almost immediately by Keith.

Keith shushed the boy, his eyes narrowing as he strained his ears, listening intensely to the riff playing seductively. Shakira's deep voice rung through next, and Keith was certain. It was his favourite song. Ever. The boy was playing his jam.

"Stop." Keith hissed. "Turn it up."

The boy's face beamed, and he dashed into his apartment, returning in the blink of an eye with a heavy electrical speaker. Shakira's _Whenever, Wherever_ rolled out from the speakers, its tantalizing tune carrying out clearly across the hallway. The boy set the speaker on the ground, and fiddled with it, turning various knobs and pressing a series of buttons. The volume increased drastically, and suddenly Shakira was enveloping the hallway, blanketing the air in her tempting tune.

"Come on then, mi amigo!" The boy beamed, spinning away from the speaker and towards Keith, swaying his hips to the song's melodic beat. He danced flawlessly, shamelessly strutting along the hallway in his bunny slippers.

Keith completely forgot about the test, or his textbook, or even the time for that matter. He let himself be caught up in the music, and let the song wrap itself around him. He took the outstretched hand offered towards him, and swirled around with the complete stranger dancing like he had never danced before. He was no longer self-conscious, he was just one with the boy, and one with the music. The boy sang along proudly, his voice silky and rich. Keith joined in, his husky tone harmonizing perfectly with the boy's at the pre-chorus and bridge. When the song ended, Keith was almost disappointed when the boy let go of his hand to turn off the large speaker.

The boy smiled breathily, panting slightly from all the dancing they had just done, his cheeks a soft blossom of red. "Lance." The boy said, introducing himself meekly.

"Keith." Keith replied with a weary smile.

"Well then, Keith." Lance announced, waving his arms around grandly and pointing to his door, where the dull numbers floated straight through Keith's head, and he was unable to process them. "I'm number 247, if you ever want to drop by for another random dance marathon, or stop by for my Spanish cuisine." He grinned widely, his expression open and hopeful.

Keith offered Lance a smile. "I'm just upstairs, at 329." He paused here. "You can come around anytime if you want to Netflix, chill, or study at 3AM."

Lance laughed. "I can't make the 3AM study periods, because I have my spontaneous Shakira binge-listen."

Keith snorted too, reluctantly turning away from Lance and starting the slow walk back up the hallway.

"Adios!" Lance called cheerily as Keith turned away. Keith waved without turning back, and climbed up the stairs to his own apartment.

He felt completely exhausted, but awake at the exact same time.

It was a great feeling.

He felt a smile spread across his face as the floors began to vibrate again, Lance blaring his music only a little quieter than he had before Keith had visited and they'd had their random dance marathon.

Keith wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.

He turned on his heel and ran back down the stairs again, unable to resist dancing with Lance at 3AM in the apartment complex hallway. He knew the boy hadn't returned to his room, and was waiting with the speakers for his new dance partner.

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 **Woo! Go ahead and give me ideas! There's more to come! Also I don't own Shakira, or Whenever, Wherever.**

 **\- Azume**


	2. Chapter 2:More Klance

**Okaay, so this one was a request... yeah, it's more Klance.**

 **Why not?**

 **-Azume**

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 _Klance: Stuck Together_

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Lance couldn't believe he was in this stupid situation. Especially with his arch-nemesis, mullet-head Keith.

Like, what were the chances of both of them deciding to take a late night gaming trip to the broken down arcade down the corner, and what were the chances of them both arriving at the _exact same time_?

Okay, so maybe Lance had been casually following his raven haired rival, and he might have tracked the shortie all the way there, but still! How would he know that Keith was going in the direction of his favourite arcade - assuming he didn't know the direction himself, which he usually didn't as Hunk normally guided the entirety of the trip - and was going up through the sacred lift? Hunk and Lance had always raced to that lift whenever they took their annual arcade day, the first person there usually got first choice unless they both wanted to duke it out on Smash Bros. as became tradition. So when Lance saw Keith duck into the retro orange door, he let the boy go on ahead, knowing through his expertise that he could race up the first set of stairs to the lift and get to the main upper floor before the emo-wannabe.

But of course fate wasn't going to let Lance beat his rival. Keith appeared at the lift doors just as Lance had sprinted up the last step. Their eyes had met, and Lance was surprised to see no flash of surprise enter Keith's charcoal eyes, no rim of violet sparkle through his bewildered gaze. No, the teen just surveyed Lance with a bored stare, and then broke the eye-contact. Lance was not one to go down that easily though, he knew a staring match when he initiated one.

Lance had lunged at Keith, throwing his arms out to grip the boy's bony shoulders. When Lance had him in a fierce grip, he stared down at Keith, into the boy's eyes and glared. He stared ferociously, vehemently, intensely locking his gaze with Keith's. Keith's lips curled into a smirk as he registered the challenge, and he fixed his eyes defiantly on Lance. They stared at each other for what seemed like years, with Lance eventually blinking and averting his chocolate brown eyes. He felt his ears burn, and turned away from Keith to recover from the furious shame that sent his heartbeat going haywire.

When Lance finally recovered some of his self-worth in order to meet Keith's eyes once again, he found the Asian boy snorting into his hand, trying to cover the sly grin that had crept up his face at the expanse of Lance's embarrassment. Lance felt his cheeks heat up, and fought to keep a steady eye-contact with Keith.

After a moment of bemusedly watching Lance's shame blossom fabulously, Keith turned and stalked in the direction of the lift. Lance's rival instincts took over, and he exploded in a burst of adrenaline, charging past Keith to reach the lift first. Thanks to his long legs and powerful lunge, Lance reached the lift first, and pressed the call button with relish just as Keith casually reached where Lance was standing in victory.

Keith leant against the opposite wall, staring down into his gloved hands without giving Lance even a moment of satisfaction. The boy wouldn't even let him feel victorious, wouldn't even look him in the face after Lance had beaten him to the lift. They stood in silence, waiting for the rickety old lift to slowly make its jittery descent to their floor. Lance considered asking Keith why he'd come here, but then Keith would straight up ask him back, deflecting the question effortlessly. And then Lance would have to explain that he followed him here, and that would be an awkward exchange if there ever was any.

The lift arrived quickly, announcing its entrance through a loud bang and the snap of rusted wire pulled taut. The doors didn't open themselves, so you usually had to prise them apart with your fingers, which Hunk was usually the best at doing. Lance approached the lift door, and looked expectantly back at Keith. The mullet lifted his head, shrugged, and then seemed to decide against his better wit. Keith joined Lance silently at the lift door, and jammed his fingers in-between the surface, and pulled violently, yanking the sliding doors apart with sheer force. Lance felt his jaw drop as the doors parted, bending themselves to Keith's will as the mullet-head stepped inside, a smiling superiorly. His eyes glinted, and Lance trudged reluctantly into the lift, knowing that Keith and him were neck and neck again, that his previous victory was now void. Lance moodily pulled the lift doors shut, and pressed the only button there was: up.

The lift pushed them up, masking the heavy silence with the familiar racketing and creaking Lance was used to. Keith was still smirking, and Lance was gradually getting more and more flustered, letting the smug mullet get to his head.

Lance couldn't take it anymore.

"Why are you so perfect?!" Lance burst out, spinning on his heel towards Keith, who stood straighter, his eyes wide with confusion.

Keith narrowed his eyes, suspicion laced into the way he tensed defensively. "What-" Keith began gruffly, before Lance cut him off with a swift zipping notion.

"Shut your quiznak!" He said fiercely, planting his feet into the ground. "Answer the question, dammit!"

Keith shrugged, looking away. "I'm not perfect, you asshole."

Lance felt his face heat up once again at Keith's name calling; the boy was making him all flustered again. He glared at Keith, who met his eyes coldly.

"I'm not perfect." Keith muttered. "So stop saying that."

Lance sighed in exasperation. "Then why won't you ever let me win against you? Huh?! You just _have_ to beat me at everything!"

Keith rolled his eyes, saying in a bored voice; "Eat your words, McClain."

Lance folded his arms. "Excuse me?" He said, earning himself a curt glare from Keith.

"Look," Keith began slowly, as if he were talking to a child. "I didn't start this rivalry thing, you did. And you're the one who takes it as a personal loss whenever you lose at something to me, which was never a competition until you made it one."

Lance was about to spit back a cutting remark, but his voice was silenced by a moan from the lift. The clattering stopped, and the two boys were enveloped in a heavy silence, the lift stationary. They weren't at the next floor, so why had the lift stopped? Keith tried to prise the doors open once again, but they were jammed shut, as the lift was supposed to be moving. Lance tried for the sake of it, and he couldn't open the doors either.

They were stuck. In a lift.

Keith sighed, pulling out his phone from his pocket wearily. It bleeped meekly, and then promptly shut itself off. Keith cursed under his breath, and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

"It's dead." Keith stated the obvious, dead-panning Lance. "Try yours."

Lance rummaged around in his jean pockets, and pulled out fluff and tissues. His phone wasn't there. Lance felt himself blush, and avoided Keith's penetratingly intense gaze.

"Where's your phone?" Keith demanded in a low voice.

Lance smiled guiltily. "I may have forgotten it."

Keith breathed out, exaggeratingly puffing out his chest to demonstrate his annoyance. Lance watched the boy sit down on the lift's floor, and lean against the wall. He didn't do anything, just stared at his hands.

Lance bit his lip. There must be someone who could get to them, someone who was there. Coran - the man who ran the arcade - was always there, he might possibly hear them if they screamed. But then again, he slept like a log and nothing could wake him up except for Allura, his fiercely pretty niece. Pidge - or Pidgeon as was their gamer name - was also always around the arcade, but never at whatever-o-clock it was now. It looked like they were gonna be there for a while, or at least until Pidgeon showed up at 7AM.

"Yo, Keith." Lance said, addressing the boy who was casually picking at his nails. "What time is it?"

Keith shrugged. "Around eleven, I left at quarter-to."

Lance let out a heavy sigh. Eight hours. Eight hours he'd be spending with mullet unless Pidgeon came early or Hunk could read the distress signals he was sending out in his mind.

Lance sat down on the cold floor opposite Keith, and stared at the mullet, struggling to voice the thoughts inside of his head and the feelings that were messing everything up. He was still annoyed at Keith for being so perfect, but the elevator matter was more pressing. Lance had followed Keith on a whim - pure gut instinct - and hadn't brought much clothing with him. He was only wearing his favourite oversized t-shirt and stretchy jeans, put together with odd socks and the first pair of shoes he could grab. He hadn't thought to bring a coat, and was seriously regretting that decision in the crisp air. The lift was old, so it made sense that it didn't have any air conditioning or a simple heating mechanism. But the temperature was gradually dropping, cold air slithering through all the gaps in elevator to small for human hands. At least air was getting in, otherwise they'd be dead in less than a minute with all the heavy breathing Lance was doing. He blew on his hands, trying to warm them up as he rubbed them together. Keith looked so comfortable across the elevator from him, covered in both a thick grey jumper and a deep red coat, heavy and warm.

"You must be boiling." Lance commented, staring longingly at Keith's coat. He shivered in his thin shirt, and imagined himself in a warm coat, snuggling into the thick fabric, fluffy and satisfying. "I'm so cold."

A heavy weight settled on Lance's shoulders, and his vision went temporarily dark. He blinked, but the darkness didn't go away, nor did his vision focus. At the same time as all of this, Lance's senses were overwhelmed by the rich scent of melted chocolate and warm cookies just out from the oven. He breathed in heavily, soaking up the pleasant smell. Lance brought his hands up to his face, and was not completely surprised to feel crumpled fabric softly enveloping his fingers, surrounding them. He pulled the fabric away from his face, and did a double take.

Keith was staring into his face, his dark hair obscuring the curious eyes that bore into Lance, taking up his whole spectre of vision. Keith's expression was blank, as if he was staring at Lance just for the sake of it; the only part of his face that stood out was his eyes. They were as intense as always, dark and captivating and with a glimmer of violet streaking through them. Lance met Keith's eyes, and then watched as the Asian boy slowly crawled back to the other side of the lift, leaning against the opposite wall once again.

Lance held the fabric out from himself, and examined it. It was the deep red coat Keith was previously wearing, oversized on the mullet-head but just the right fit for Lance. It felt just as he had imagined, fluffy and warm and thick. Lance cast Keith a nervous glance, where in reply the boy just shrugged nonchalantly.

"You _said_ you were cold." Keith stated, gesturing lazily to the jumper he was wearing. "I already have this so..." He let himself trail off, his dark eyes razor sharp as he watched Lance's next move like a hawk.

Lance smiled appreciatively, pulling the jacket on with care. He curled his fingers around the ends of the sleeves, squeezing the soft fabric tightly. He hugged himself, bringing his knees up to his chest and nestling his head in between them. Keith had been nice just there, with lending him his coat and stuff. But he guessed that Keith only did it because he was hot, and like, the boy _was_ wearing two coats.

"So..." Lance chewed on his lip, fumbling over the words threatening to tumble out of his tongue. "I guess I started the rivalry." He admitted.

Keith snorted, his lip curling slightly. "Yeah, Lance, you did."

Lance averted his eyes from Keith's intense gaze and furled his hands around the jacket sleeves, awkwardly shifting his position on the floor.

"So, uh..." Keith began after a moment of silence, drawing Lance's eyes immediately back to him. "How long has it been?"

Lance started, surprised at how quickly Keith had figured out that Lance had started counting the seconds they'd been stuck in the elevator. He decided to settle on a casual shrug, deny Keith's passive accusation, and change the subject.

Lance achieved a slightly tense shrug, and replied in an offhand voice. "I have no idea." Keith merely raised his eyebrows, and Lance felt himself bristle. "Let's play a game!" He announced, avoiding Keith's smug look.

Keith stretched his legs out against the floor. "I'll humour you." He said in a mildly interested voice, placing his hands onto the floor, palms down. "What game do you want to play, Lance?"

"Stop treating me like a kid!"

Keith rolled his eyes. "I'm older than you, dimwit."

Lance folded his arms and huffed out a breath, breathing in the captivating scent of chocolate chipped cookies. "Whatever." He mumbled, struggling to think of a game that Keith would even want to play. He didn't know the boy that well, so he wasn't sure how Keith would react if he proposed a slightly immature game. And there wasn't that much space in the limited lift, so they couldn't start chasing each other like maniacs. Not that Keith would do that, nor would Lance, he was too comfortably spread out on the ground. An idea sprung itself upon Lance, and he spoke it off the top of his head, knowing if he thought about it he'd convince himself that Keith wouldn't want to do it.

"Questions?" Keith repeated, narrowing his eyes slightly. Lance nodded vigorously, earnestly, innocently. "There's nothing else to do, I guess." He muttered. "And we do have a lot of time."

"Yep!" Lance grinned, already contemplating what embarrassing questions to ask the mullet. "I'll go first. When was the last time you took off those fingerless gloves?"

Keith rolled his eyes. "This morning, idiot." He paused here, before asking Lance his question. "Do you have any siblings?"

Lance was surprised at such an average question. Did Keith not want to know anything about Lance, get the dirt on his greatest rival? Maybe Lance just wasn't an interesting person, and there was nothing better to ask him about than his siblings. But Lance loved his family, so he obliged anyway.

"Well there's me," He began. "And then Veronica, Marco and Luis."

"Big family." Keith commented drily.

Lance laughed. "Big? That's only four people. We have mama, padre, abuelita, abuelo and my tias living back at home."

Keith nodded along. "Woah. I see why you moved out."

"Nah, it wasn't because of them, they're great." Lance said offhandedly. "I moved because I needed to study here, it's the best of the best at Voltron, and how else would I beat you?"

Keith rolled his eyes.

"Now back to you, mullet." Lance said cheerily. "Speaking of mullets, why did you decide to go all 70s and emo?"

Keith shrugged dismissively. "I like what I like."

Lance sighed. "Okay, well... you're bad at this." He squinted, thinking before slowly asking his next question. "Why did you come out here?"

Keith narrowed his eyes. "I could ask you the exact same question."

"Well, I asked first!" Lance said defensively. "Go on, mullet, no need to be embarrassed."

Keith bit his lip, before muttering gruffly; "You and Hunk come here a lot."

"So?"

"So," Keith continued quietly. "I wanted to know what was so good about it."

Lance was surprised. Like, seriously. Why would Keith - perfect, annoyingly amazing at everything Keith - want to know why he and Hunk went to the arcade every week? Hunk was a cool dude, so Keith might have wanted to get to know him more, but that didn't involve sneaking around. Hunk was an open guy, all Keith would have had to do would be walk up to him.

"Hunk's an open guy-" Lance began, only to be cut short by Keith's sharp tone.

"I said I wanted to know what was good about it!"

"Jeez." Lance sighed. "Okay dude, chill." He let his face slide into a grin. "But just so you know, Hunk's taken-"

"Just shut up!" Keith burst out, his hands clenching into fists on the floor. "I'm not interested in Hunk!"

Lance rolled his eyes. "Okay, Kogane. I admit, the arcade has some cool games, but they're not really you, per say."

Keith let out an exasperated breath, calming himself down. "You. Are. An. Idiot."

Lance grinned obliviously. "If you say so."

Keith sat up straighter, smirking slightly. "Now tell me why you came to some retro arcade centre at eleven."

Lance blushed; the whole ordeal sounded so much more stupid now that he actually had to say it out loud. His eyes found Keith's, and they locked. Keith was not letting Lance squirm out of answering the blunt question, and Keith held Lance in a harsh gaze.

"So I may have followed you." Lance said sheepishly. Keith raised a brow, and Lance flushed red, his ears and neck burning with an enflamed heat. "I wasn't being a stalker!" He stuttered indignantly, watching as Keith let out a stifled laugh. "Hey!"

Keith grinned, a his dark eyes warm. "Why did you follow me?"

"Sometimes you just gotta know." Lance said airily, waving his hand.

They sat there in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Keith with his knees pulled up against his chest and Lance spread eagled flat on his back. The night seemed young, yet there was no perception of time in the dimly lit elevator. For all Lance knew, he could have been in the lift for two days and he wouldn't have noticed. Well, he'd get hungry, and would probably have to eat Keith. Probably. But he wasn't starving yet, and he had his stash of chocolate bars stuffed far into his back pocket. If he had to choose between chocolate or Keith, he'd definitely eat the chocolate bar. They were tastier. Probably.

Keith groaned suddenly. Lance snapped to attention, wondering if he'd done anything wrong. He was drifting off into thoughts of food, and he must have seemed distant to Keith, cold even. What if the mullet was going to attempt to construct a conversation with him, and Lance had ruined it by not paying enough attention. He was such an _idiot_.

"Yo, Keith?" Lance said pushing himself into a more inviting sitting position. The boy's face was scrunched up; his eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes clenched tight. Lance wanted to reach out to him - to see if he was okay - but he didn't want to overstep any boundaries they had unknowingly created. "Keith," Lance tried again, letting a little worry seep into his tone as Keith only took on an even more pained expression. "Are you okay?"

Keith coughed, his throat sounding dry and raw. He then looked at Lance, his hawk-like eyes dilated. "Don't worry about it." He said in a dismissively hoarse voice. "I'm just a little hungry."

Lance felt guilt push its way forcefully into his mind as Keith tried to hide the subtle way he delicately clutched his stomach, pretending to just nestle his hands casually over his grey jacket. If he had been more focused on Keith, and not so wrapped up in himself, Lance would have sensed his hunger. And Lance _had_ food, he was just being too selfish to notice when others wanted it.

Even so, Lance arranged his face into an easy smile. "I have food, if you want it." He said, avoiding Keith's grateful gaze. If he looked at Keith, he'd feel even worse. "Sorry I didn't tell you about them before." Lance apologised, an edge to his voice as he rifled his hands around his back pocket for the chocolate bars.

"Are you sure?" Keith dead-panned. He looked seriously conflicted, and unsure if Lance was being earnest or not. Lance ignored the slight pang of hurt he felt at the thought of Keith not trusting him. But why would Keith trust him, it wasn't as if Lance was a trustworthy person. He held out the chocolate bars to Keith, reaching his hand out across the lift to get to the boy, who had his back against the wall. Keith took the bar tentatively, and nervously opened the wrapper.

"Go on, then." Lance urged with a scoff. "Haven't you ever had chocolate before?"

Keith bristled, taking a huge bite of the chocolate and chewing in violently, swallowing with a venom. "Course I have, idiot." He ate the rest of the chocolate bar with an aggressive gusto, his sharp eyes never leaving Lance's face with a defensive glare.

Lance watched Keith finish the chocolate bar in silence, and then handed the mullet another one, which he ate much more carefully, with small bites and long chewing periods. It was unnerving, to see someone eat chocolate so quickly. Lance was tempted to swipe the bar then and there, and stuff it into Kogane's mouth himself.

They relaxed back into the silence when Keith had finished, Lance reflecting on when he should have offered Keith the chocolate, and Keith seemingly daydreaming, his eyes closed but his whole body tense. Lance let out a yawn, and failed to muffle it with a hand. Keith opened one eye lazily to stare at Lance, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm tired." Lance explained through another long yawn, stretching his arms. He felt Keith's coat self-consciously, fingering the soft fabric and inhaling the soft scent it carried. "Is it okay if I..." Lance trailed off, his face heating up. "You know, um..."

"What?" Keith said in a vague voice, letting out a quiet yawn of his own. "Sleep?"

"Well, um, yeah." Lance said, shrugging the red coat off him. He stretched it's soft fabric out, and lay it over him like a duvet, snuggling inside the fluffy inner layer. He blinked up at Keith through the jacket, and hoped that it didn't make him feel too uncomfortable. They still had a while to go before morning, and before Pidge(on), Allura, or Coran found them.

"You can sleep in my coat, if that's what you're asking." Keith stated, sliding down the lift wall and shuffling a bit, settling into an almost sleep-able position.

"Good," Lance smiled, his eyes closing. "It's really warm and comfortable."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. But I'm even more comfortable." Lance was sleep-talking now, only aware of the cookie scent washing around him and the coat enveloping him.

"Are you?"

"Uh huh." Lance mumbled contentedly. "Hands down."

"Eh?"

"Like a sofa... Or maybe a bed... I like pillows."

"Goodnight, Lance."

"Nigh', mullet."

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the open lift doors, and a face peered through, splitting the rays of light. The face was thin, with thick rimmed hipster glasses and light brown hair. Pidge smirked as they observed the two boys asleep in the lift, their bodies tangled and intertwined. They must have been there for a while, and had gotten quite comfortable. Pidge let out a sly chuckle; the things you see when you go to the arcade, eh?

"Wake up losers!" Pidge yelled, their face splitting into a wide grin.

The first to wake was Pidge's friend and gaming competitor, Lance McClain - also known as SeñorLancelot. He shot upright, instantly awake. He looked around wildly, his eyes blinking in the direct sunlight. Pidge decided to calm the older boy down, and brought him back to the real world with a bump.

"I didn't think lifts were your thing, Lancelot." Pidge said slyly, cocking a brow.

Lance was still slightly disorientated, but relaxed at the sound of their voice. "Oh hey Pidgeon, what do you mean?"

"I thought you were more of a classic, myself." Pidge smirked. "Like, you know, using a bed."

"Hey!" Lance burst out in a flustered voice, his ears going pink. "We didn't - you know - do it!"

"Okay." Pidge said condescendingly. "You know best."

The other boy woke up then, carefully sitting up, and arching his back delicately - like a swan. Pidge didn't know him, but his sharp eyes were already focused and observing everything around him and taking in information, so they decided that they would give him a chance.

"And who are you?" Pidge said, raising her brows at the boy. "You're new here."

"Yeah." The boy said suspiciously, his eyes scanning Pidge then flicking to Lance and registering the recognition displayed across his face. The boy seemed to trust Lance, so he revealed a part of himself to Pidge. "I'm Keith." He paused, before stating deliberately. "You're Pidge."

"Pidge I am."

Lance decided to enter the conversation here, and let out an exaggerated groan. "Food!" He moaned, looking imploringly at Pidge. "Buy me food!"

"What about you, emo?" Pidge said testily, raising their eyebrows. "Do you want food?"

Keith took up the challenge, his eyes glittering. "Yeah."

"All right!" Lance announced, bouncing up from the ground like a coiled spring. "Let's go get food, Pidge you pay!"

"Sure." Pidge said, commenting after a pause. "Is that a new coat?"

Keith and Lance both blushed.

"No." Lance mumbled.

"What?" Pidge said, smirking.

"Let's go get food!" Lance changed the subject obviously, his whole face a mess of red. "Now!"

"If that helps you sleep at night."

"Let's just get my bagels Pidgeon!"

* * *

 **Yeah... This took way longer than expected.**

 **Comment any ships or scenarios or characters you'd like to see next!**

 **\- Azume**


	3. Chapter 3: How Pidge and Lance Met

**So I'm out of ideas, but just imagine this as how Pidge and Lance met in an AU. Okay? Just imagine! (And read the actual story)**

 **Also, I don't own Voltron.**

 ***This isn't related to the previous oneshots, but if you want a follow -up to one, just comment it in the review section.**

* * *

Pidge held their phone right beneath their nose, almost pressing their face against the greasy surface slicked in sweat. They were waiting in the longest queue, like ever. The line was narrow and endless, serpentine and snaking around the block, a cluster of young mega-nerds struggling to keep some type of order and their priceless places in line. They pushed and shoved, getting awfully aggressive if anybody even accidentally nudged them or brushed against their arms. Pidge understood them of course, it was the premier of the sequel to a chart-topping action movie, Voltron. All of these people had been camping outside the venue, holding their sacred spots in the line for hours. If anyone tried to sneak past them, it would be utter hell. Friends of friends had no chance of slipping into the line, as those who had been camping outside the cinema were sleep deprived and shockingly easily angered - they would take nothing from anybody and would resort to violence if necessary. Pidge themselves came alone, and was glad they did so. They didn't have to talk to people, and could focus on passing level seven hundred and four on an old game they had downloaded again onto their phone, specifically for the purpose of replaying it here. Pidge had their snacks, and could hold their pee for a considerably long amount of time, so they wouldn't have to leave the film early or - heaven forbid - midway through the feature. They were prepared for the long wait, and had everything they needed to make sure the premier of Voltron was just as special as it was made out to be. Sure, attending the premier with somebody else might have been mildly interesting, and Pidge would have the opportunity to discuss the complete awesomeness of the Green Paladin's impressive character development with an outsider, but that would take away the precious time Pidge should rightfully spend watching the movie. People were a vaguely useful distraction, and Pidge had learnt through brutal experience how to deal with the mindless crowds, tolerate their immense stupidity, and avoid them if necessary, taking everything in their purposeful stride.

But there was one thing Pidge could _not_ take in their stride.

Him, the obnoxious, arrogant, loud-mouth standing in front of them. It wasn't enough that he towered above them, his frame lanky and tall, stretching towards the grey sky. It wasn't enough that he was painfully handsome, flaunting perfect sun kissed skin and tufts of chestnut brown hair. No, it wasn't even the idiot smile he displayed while showing off to his shorter, gentler looking friend. What really annoyed Pidge was what the boy was saying.

And that they could not take.

The boy was trash-talking their child. He was dissing their favourite character. The boy was cheerfully insulting the Green Paladin's morals, and saying that she was useless to the team. He went on and on, his smug drawl making Pidge's fists curl, making their sharp fingernails slice into their soft flesh. Pidge breathed heavily, attempting to tune out the complete lies the boy was spraying from his mouth like poison. But they couldn't block him out, his voice was too loud and his words were too fake. They couldn't let him get away with this.

"Hey." Pidge growled, poking the boy hard in the back. He turned swiftly, his eyes a light brown colour and warm as his face slipped into an easy smile. The boy looked down at Pidge happily, completely oblivious to the way their small frame was shaking with barely contained rage. This boy was an idiot. A complete moron.

"Hi!" The boy said, his eyes brightly scanning Pidge, waiting for them to smile back in greeting. When Pidge stayed still - their feet planted defiantly in the ground - the boy grinned, not even noticing, and held out his hand. "I'm Lance."

Pidge didn't shake his long-fingered hand, but glared at it until it dropped back to Lance's side. They narrowed their eyes. "Pidge."

"Cool!" Lance said with a grin, gesturing easily to his friend. "That's Hunk over there, we're going to meet up with the other's later."

Pidge definitely did not want to meet the Green Paladin Offender's friends, especially if they were going to insult Green too, but Hunk - the one present - seemed okay. He had a broad structure, and kind eyes. His dark brown eyes were one of the things that let Pidge deem him as their equal, as they were delicate yet held a unique spark of genius within them, a sharp edge of knowledge as he assessed the situation silently. His hair was dark, and an orange ribbon was wrapped around his head in the fashion of the Yellow Paladin, a main character from the movie being premiered. His posture was tense, and Pidge could tell that he could sense Pidge's rushing anger threatening to spill out of them.

"Um, Lance?" Hunk said in timid voice, taking the arrogant Green-Offender by the arm. "Maybe we should let Pidge do their thing?"

"Hunk!" Lance said indignantly, raising his eyebrows at his concerned friend. "They talked to me first!"

Hunk shrugged, looking helplessly at Pidge. "Never argue with an idiot." He sighed. "They'll drag you down to their level and beat you with experience."

Pidge snorted slightly, awarding Hunk with a rare curl of the lip. Lance's cheeks had blossomed into a furious red blush, and he scoffed.

"Uh huh!" Lance said in a light tone, unadhered by the red tone sprayed across his cheeks, ears and neck. " _I'm_ the idiot."

"Well you obviously are if you think the Green Paladin's character arc was pointless!" Pidge burst out, glaring furiously up at Lance.

His eyes lit up, and he let out a small squeal, exited by the prospect of a debate. Hunk rolled his eyes, and shrugged again, a slight smile on his lips.

"It is, though!" Lance said, happily providing fuel to the fire. "What's her deal? She does nothing!"

"She does loads of things!" Pidge insisted. "She's easily the smartest one there and gives the whole team a level-headed bringing back down to earth whenever they get caught up in their foolish expeditions!"

"Not true!" Lance said with a grin. "In the first movie, she was the person on the team who convinced Blue to steal money from the fountain so they could buy a gaming console - one which was useless, too!"

Pidge sucked in a breath, furrowing their brows. The moron was right, it was Green who had forced Blue to take the fountain money for her own personal gain, and it had almost got them in trouble. Pidge couldn't argue with that fact, they'd forgotten about themselves if they were being completely honest.

"And!" Lance added with a wink at Hunk, who helplessly averted his eyes from the argument. "Yellow is just as smart as Green! Yellow's a genius, and matches Green as her equal in every scientific field. Yellow is also very level headed, and worries for the team's wellbeing and tells them!"

"I guess so." Pidge conceded, rolling their eyes at the smug smirk Lance had adorned on his freckle-dusted face. "But you can't say that Green finding her family wasn't important!"

"It _is_ important!" Lance agreed enthusiastically, nodding. "Green definitely needs to find her family, but she puts the whole team at risk by being centred on that one goal, and is fixed on accomplishing by herself when she would work so much quicker if she just asked for help!" Lance continued earnestly, gesturing with his hands in an empathic manner. "The whole team cares about her - and she knows - but she is so damn stubborn!"

Pidge was stubborn too, and they weren't going to give up their respect on Green for some petty argument with a frustratingly arrogant guy named Lance, and his mildly interesting friend, Hunk.

"Green's stubbornness protected all of her friends!" Pidge said, remembering with a smirk the heroics of their favourite character. "When she was left alone at the Castle, who protected it from the ambush? That's right, her!"

"True." Lance said decisively. "But if she had wanted somebody to stay with her, all she had to do was ask, but she didn't."

"Well," Pidge concluded, pushing their light brown hair from their eyes. "Green needs another character arc, to fix all of these flaws she has."

"Exactly." Lance said happily, as if he was proud of himself. "No-one's perfect, but Green already had her arc and nothing happened. So it was pointless."

"Okay. You win." Pidge said sullenly, turning around slowly, completely shocked at themselves for losing. They never lost, but that moron had beaten them. How? Pidge numbly looked down at their feet, and prepared to take their battered phone out from their pocket and pretend to text somebody while actually contemplating exactly how they had lost to such a complete idiot.

"Hey, wait a second, Pidge!" Lance cried, surprising Pidge at how smoothly he said their name, as if it was already memorised.

"What, idiot?"

Lance cast a sideways look at Hunk, who nodded with a warm smile. "Come sit with me and Hunk inside!" Lance proposed openly, his smile wide and genuine. "You're a great debater, and a pretty awesome person!"

Pidge rolled their eyes, quipping snarkily. "I already know that."

"See! You're awesome!" Lance grinned. "If you want, you could come meet up with the rest of the team later, I think you and mullet will get on well!"

Pidge smiled to themselves, before meeting eyes with Lance. Brown met brown, and Pidge nodded curtly.

"Sure thing, this mullet sounds vaguely worth my time."

Lance grinned and Hunk laughed lightly. Pidge stepped forward, joining the first friends they had ever found in their spot in the queue, which was in front of them.

* * *

 **How was this? Um, I made Pidge non-binary because it's an AU, and I'm not sure exactly how they identified in the actual series. Feel free to tell me, because I'd like to know! I used her-pronouns for Green because I felt like it, and it's not meant to be Pidge, because Pidge is not the Green Paladin in this story, they're just a mega-geek (Heh, like me). Green is kinda like a persona of Pidge, I'm not sure how to explain it.**

 **So remember if you want anything specific to actually just comment it in the review section, or I'll just write whatever I feel like at the moment. And if you want me to continue something, comment that too.**

 **\- Azume**


	4. Chapter 4: Klance Role(Personality)Swap

**This request sounded fun, so Imma do it! It's a Klance personalityswap AU, and the also requested roleswap Shallura one will be also posted next!**

 **(Unless I run out of ideas and** **accidently forget** **)**

 **I kind of got confused and made this one a personality-swap instead of a roleswap, but Shallura will definitely be a roleswap.**

 **So... since it's an AU, this doesn't fit in with anything. It's just a random mission where Keith and Lance have always had swapped personalities, okay?**

 **I won't swap their lions, but this will be set when Lance is still Blue and Keith is still Red.**

 **\- Azume**

 ***Oh yeah, so I'll use she/her pronouns for Pidge here, and Keith is still gay and Lance is bi.**

* * *

Keith laughed raucously, throwing his head back as he let out howls of joy, setting off Hunk and Pidge, who laughed happily beside him. He was telling jokes again, idiotic jokes that were so stupid they were hilarious. Keith brushed his hair out of his eyes, pushing the long dark strands of hair out from his face and into a wave-swept style. He leaned back against the sofa in the lounge, spreading out casually across its surface, forcing Pidge to plop on the floor with a low grumble. Hunk smiled at Keith, and stood up, still chuckling lightly.

Lance rolled his eyes at his friends, and tried to focus on getting his Bayard to take the form of a rifle, so he could practice his rusty sharp-shooting skills. He had slipped up on the last mission, and needed to get on top of his game. The others were all completely slacking off (Taking a break, as Shiro had stated lazily) and lying around the Castle like ornaments. Lance needed to make sure that when they next needed him, he wouldn't slip up. They needed to be able to put their faith in him, in his skills, and they couldn't do that if he was going to make a mess of everything again. Lance let out a heavy sigh, cursing in Spanish, before roughly shaking his Bayard.

"Aw, Lance?" Keith called, raising a bemused brow. "You okay there?"

Lance scowled at the mullet. "Fine." He mumbled, fastening his grip on the Bayard. He shook its smooth surface again, and it slowly, reluctantly, obeyed his will. It shimmered, before taking on the form of a slim rifle, just what Lance needed to hone and improve his faltering skillset. He grinned at the gun, and shifted it between his hands, weighing out its slight surface. It was metallic, smooth, and perfect. Lance admired the gun, proud that he had managed to get it to take its form so perfectly. Of course Lance knew it couldn't actually respond to his individual thoughts, and was controlled by the life force of Princess Allura, just like everything else in the Castle. Lance turned his head, and saw Allura smiling sincerely near the door leading into the hallway, her sharp eyes appraising Lance's commendable work ethic. He sent the willowy Princess a lingering grin, which she returned before turning and heading back into the hallway. Lance returned to his Bayard, grateful for the Princess's assistance in getting his weapon to take his desired form.

Pidge let out a snort, plastering both her hands over her mouth obviously as soon as Lance whipped his head up. She shrugged helplessly, shifting her gaze to Keith, who looked on the bridge of collapsing.

Keith met Lance's eyes, and the boy's dark depths glittered violet for a moment. Lance could catch a short glimpse of a kaleidoscope of emotions through them, a torrential current of feelings all struggling to gain dominancy in Keith's eyes. The boy's deep voids held so much inside of them, but Keith blinked all of his contrasting feelings away as he suddenly broke their eye contact. He looked away from Lance, his gaze sweeping over Pidge and Hunk, before Keith let out a low whistle, cocking a brow teasingly at Lance.

"What?" Lance said defensively, feeling his grip curl around the smooth Bayard as he brought it closer to his chest, glaring at the mullet.

Keith only smirked.

" _What?_ " Lance growled, his nostrils flaring as his careful hold of his temper loosened. " _What is it?!"_

"Don't worry." Keith said slyly, casting a sideways glance at Pidge, who let out another weakly stifled snort. "I'm sure she didn't notice."

" _What?!"_

A flash of something clear and vulnerable flitted through Keith's eyes, before it vanished almost instantly, and the boy's dark depths were once again filled with the swirling encompass of emotions, making them near impossible to read. "Allura." Keith said with a smug grin, gesturing to where the Princess had been standing previously. "She probably didn't notice the way you were gaping after her like a goldfish from Earth."

Pidge let out a short laugh, and Lance bristled.

He was not gaping after Allura, he didn't even like the woman that way! He was just thankful to her, as she had helped him with his Bayard, and he wanted her to know he appreciated the effort it took her to focus her life force on one particular part of the Castle, especially on something as minuscule as a Bayard transformation. Plus, Lance couldn't even focus on Allura, he was too busy trying to stop idiotic Keith from getting on his nerves. The mullet took up all of his time, filling Lance's schedule with useless things such as _stop Keith from throwing food at me_ , and _tell Keith to stop flirting with all the male aliens_. Lance was so involved with maintaining Keith's wild eccentrics that he could barely focus on a love life, and even if he did, Keith would always be getting in the way. Keith was always on his mind, whether it was the mullet's idiotic hairstyle, or Lance reflecting on Keith's reckless attacks as he charged into the fray on a complete impulse, forcing Lance to charge in right after him on clean-up duty.

"I wasn't doing that." Lance stated in a low voice, preparing to turn away from Hunk's sheepish gaze, and Pidge's smirk, and Keith's taunting smile and glittering eyes. The mullet was so hard to read, and seemed to change his mood every second.

"You were." Pidge insisted, reaching her hand up to high five Keith. She let out a clever grin, before fixing Lance with an observational gaze. In the most serious voice she could muster, Pidge said; "You looked like a goldfish, and you were dribbling."

Lance reached up to check the sides of his mouth, his ears turning red through Keith's ringing laughter.

"What is your _problem_?" Lance directed the accusation at Keith, standing up from his chair. He kicked it aside, and it skidded across the smooth floor, its metallic surface sliding easily. He dropped the Bayard, and it transformed back into its original form, clattering on the floor.

"Dude!" Keith held up his arms with a laugh, standing up too. He was a head shorter than Lance, but still had enough charisma to overwhelm him and the rest of the Paladins of Voltron. "We were just kidding!"

"It wasn't funny." Lance growled, planting his feet in the ground as he glared at the short mullet. Keith had gradually retreated backwards so he was standing within the company of Hunk and Pidge (Who had stood up from her comfortable position on the floor), safely nestled between his two friends. Keith was grinning stupidly, his hands in their pockets, though his eyes remained dark and unreadable.

"Of course it wasn't funny." Keith agreed in a mock-sombre voice, nodding his head wisely. Then - as his face split into a Cheshire-catlike grin - Keith continued slowly, decisively. "Crushes are a serious business."

Pidge burst into a chorus of snorts, her petite frame shaking with treacherous laughter. Even Hunk betrayed Lance - his oldest and most dear friend - by surrendering a small grin, partly hidden behind his outstretched hand. Keith laughed the loudest, high and proud, closing his eyes and clutching his stomach as he gasped for breaths of air.

Lance scowled.

"I don't like Allura." He hissed dangerously, narrowing his chocolate brown eyes onto Keith, who met his eyes instantly. The mullet held the steady eye contact, levelling his own dark gaze with Lance's molten bronze one. The same clear emotion passed through Keith's eyes again, and Lance could almost recognise it, the way his eyes froze every time Lance said Allura's name, the way Keith stared after her whenever she left the room, eyebrows furrowed and his expression pinched with a thinly veiled disgust, right before he burst into laughter at one of Pidge's sarcastic comments.

"You _love_ her!" Pidge cooed, bursting into peals of laughter once more, elongating the word 'love' as Hunk laughed softly along. Lance kept his eyes glued to Keith as Pidge said this, and he watched the way Keith's eyes subtly narrowed, their pupil's dilating ever so slightly.

Lance had a suspicion, and he was pretty sure he had hit the nail on the head. It was the way Keith's eyes followed Allura around the room as she walked, the way he snapped to attention every time Lance mentioned her offhandedly. Lance just needed proof.

He strode towards Keith, refusing to break a heavy eye contact as he roughly gripped the mullet's hand and tugged him out of the room. Lance led Keith into the hallway, only loosening his grip on the boy's wrist once he had slammed the door shut behind them, effectively silencing Pidge's cat-calls and Hunk's timid whistling, sounds that would follow them out into the hallway.

Keith shrugged his hand off from Lance, and rubbed his wrist. "What the hell, man?" Keith began with an easy smile, only to be cut off by Lance.

" _You_ like her." Lance said angrily, letting out an exasperated sigh when he was met by those unreadable dark eyes once again. Lance needed to be clearer, to get his prediction across to Keith. He corrected himself, repeating louder; "You like Princess Allura."

Keith's eyes widened in horror, and he stared at Lance, completely dumbfounded. The mullet snorted, before erupting into a cascade of giggles, failing to stifle them by turning away. When Keith faced Lance once again - a minute later - his face was red and his eyes clenched tight.

" _You_ think _I_ like _her_?" Keith proposed incredulously, letting out a high laugh once Lance nodded his head briskly. "I hate her!" He announced. "She's so pretty - disgustingly beautiful - and she is so annoyingly perfect! She can make your weapons work, and she always gives you advice that you listen to!"

"So what?" Lance shouted, staring at Keith. The boy was talking nonsense, why would his eyes track Allura all around the room wherever she went, and why would he get so tense whenever Lance mentioned her if he didn't harbour at least some feelings for her? Why should Keith care that Allura can make Lance's Bayard transform, and that he listened to her advice and criticism? Whenever Keith talked to Lance, it was always to initiate some kind of argument, or to insult his work ethic, or something stupid like that. Keith never actually gifted Lance with a genuine compliment, and whenever he did it was accompanied with a snigger or a mocking wink.

"Why don't you ever listen to me?" Keith was yelling too now, his nostrils flaring. "Is it because I'm not as good looking as her? Am I not as smart? As educated?"

Lance fought the urge to lash out at Keith, and struggled to contain his voice, keeping his pitch low. "You have never once tried to talk to me Keith." Lance growled, his eyes cutting through Keith like knives, piercing his soft flesh.

"That's because you always act like you're better than me!" Keith said furiously, blinking away Lance's brutal glare. "All I'm trying to do is prove that I am just as good as you, and even better than Allura!"

"Then why do you act so-" Lance couldn't put his finger on the expression he had glimpsed within Keith's dark eyes. "Why do you act so-"

"Jealous?" Keith said sharply, startling Lance. "Because I _am_ , you pompous idiot!"

Lance froze. That was the clear expression in Keith's usually impenetrable eyes, the way their dark iris' sharpened at Lance's mentions of Allura, the way he tracked her confident strides across rooms, disgust laced in every vein in his body. Keith was jealous. The way whenever she said something knowledgeable, or smart, or just plain right, Keith would snort and then crack a joke directed at Lance. But if Keith was jealous of Allura, why didn't he target _her_ with his insult comedy? Why was Lance always the one to get the butt of the joke? To get laughed crudely at? It wasn't fair.

"Then why do you always get at me?!" Lance roared, his confusion only deepening, adding fuel to the fire burning within him.

"Because _I'm never good enough for you_!" Keith matched Lance in volume, his voice raw as he screamed back at Lance, honesty caught in his throat.

Lance stopped, looking at the boy stood in front of him with wide eyes. Keith had never wanted to be good enough for him, never. Keith had always wanted to be better than Lance, to be better than all of them. Keith liked feeling superior, flaunting his skills on the field and with the men. Keith had always tried to put down Lance on any level, striving to make everyone know that he was superior in every single solitary way possible. If Keith wanted to be good enough for Lance, then all he had to do was be himself! Lance was a perfectionist, but he understood that people were their best selves _as_ themselves. Maybe that was the reason the mullet made his skin prickle, because he was putting on an act. Lance was masking this powerful emotion - this monster writhing inside of him - with pointed laughs and stupid jokes. It wasn't him.

Keith continued on, spittle flying as he yelled vehemently. "It's always _her_!" Keith cried. "Princess Allura with her nice in-style hair and her perfect posture and her complete self-assurance! I'm sorry _I'm_ not royalty and my hair looks like it was from the umpteenth century and I can't even like myself!"

Lance shook off his confusion, and brutally shot back at Keith, knowing what the boy needed was harsh honesty and distinct words. "That's not a reflection on you, Keith!" Lance lowered his voice, staring at Keith straight in the eye. "Allura is her own person, and she's not better nor worse than you!"

"You're the _only one_ who takes me seriously, Lance!" Keith pleaded, his voice dropping to match Lance's. "It's only you, and then Allura comes in and messes things up, and makes you look at her. You only look at her then!"

"Why do you care so much?!" Lance said, wincing as Keith looked away before returning to glare at Lance, his eyes fiery and clear.

"Because I _like_ you!"

Lance's voice caught in his throat, and he was speechless. He paused, watching as Keith breathed heavily, glaring at Lance, refusing to take back his confession. "If you like me," He said slowly, deliberately, seriously. "Then why do you challenge me so much? Why do you make every moment we have together a competition?"

"It's the only way you'd notice me!" Keith said angrily, all traces of his joking nature gone. "There are times when - there are times when we have moments, when you look at me like you value me as a person, or when we laugh together like, like real friends... But it's not enough!" Keith sucked in a breath, barely faltering before he soldiered on. "It's not enough to be your _friend,_ Lance!"

"Then what do you want to be?" Lance said carefully. His heart began to hammer in his chest, and his throat closed up, taken hold of by a super-human force, and he was unable to speak. His chest tightened as he realised that he wanted an answer. There was a reason Lance was so affected by Keith's jokes, a reason Lance noticed the way Keith's eyes followed Allura. If she hadn't been so unfathomably kind to him, Lance probably would have harboured the same feelings of green eyed envy for the Princess that Keith had. But then why would Lance feel so objected to Allura? Was it because of Keith?

It was.

Lance felt the same for Keith as Keith felt for Lance. He _liked_ Keith. There had always been a strong emotion connected with that boy, and Lance had supressed it into a meagre annoyance, casting his feelings off as dislike. But it wasn't that. Lance had misinterpreted his feelings, he didn't hate Keith, he hated the way Keith looked at him like he was just a toy. He wanted to prove himself to Keith just as much as Keith did to him.

And that's why Lance needed an answer.

"I want to be more than friends." Keith said quietly. "But I understand now that you have no interest in that."

"Since when?"

Keith flicked his gaze up to Lance, his charcoal eyes brightening. "So you _like_ me?"

"Yeah, but-"

"But?" Keith's voice dropped, as if he had expected Lance to say what he did. Keith had expected Lance to reject him, Keith had expected Lance to deem him unfit. But Lance didn't find Keith unfit as himself, it was when he was pretending to be somebody else that Lance couldn't stand the mullet.

"If you want my attention," Lance said. "You need to be yourself, stop pretending to be someone you're not."

"I'm sorry." Keith said.

"If you're insecure," Lance continued, ignoring Lance. "Tell me yourself. If you're vulnerable, tell me. Don't hide behind a façade, Keith. I liked the moments we had together, when you were you and I was me. It was just us, being ourselves."

"If I can get better," Keith reasoned, his eyes wide and full of one emotion, hope. "If I can be myself with you, will you give me a chance?"

Lance smiled. "Definitely."

Keith offered Lance a timid smile in return, so unlike the smug smirks Lance had been seeing for months that it shook him. It was a true smile, so delicate and fragile that it changed the boy's whole face, lighting up his features with a newfound life.

"Thank you."

Lance held out a hand, offering it to Keith. Keith laced his slender fingers in Lance's, and squeezed lightly. Lance squeezed back.

Together, they walked back into the room, hand in hand.

* * *

 **Jeez, this has turned into some hard-core moral stuff. Be yourself! Yay!**

 _ **(But then again if you can be Batman... like he's pretty awesome...)**_

 **I swear I actually cannot write. Like, I can't think of words. My writing process is all: _flaunting his skills in the... in the... in the AREA WHERE YOU FLAUNT SKILLS._**

 **Oh well, anyway, Shallura role-swap is probably next, but still send me characters/ship/AU ideas. It helps my strange writing process.**

 **\- Azume**


	5. Chapter 5: Shallurangst Roleswap

**So this is a roleswap. ROLESWAP. A swap of ROLES. A Shallura one, if you were wondering. Remember to message/comment/review me prompts and characters and ships and other things that you may find helpful to me.**

 _ **(Allura has a GALRA ARM?!)**_

 **Oh yeah, and this is before clone Shiro (Kuron?) makes an entrance. So Keith is also still with Voltron, not that he's in this.**

 **And also, I don't have a specific OTP, so yeah, I just like the show. If you were wondering.**

 **And also also, the training system is made up, so the simulation thing could happen, and that I could make this Shallura.**

 **\- Azume**

* * *

Allura flexed her prosthetic hand, clenching and extending her fingers over and over again, wincing at how easily the Galra technology succumbed to her every will and command. She hated how it suited her perfectly, boosting her fighting style, adding immense power to the slender agility and quick wit she normally used when she fought hand to hand combat. She hated how the right arm resonated with Black's past, how it only seemed to deepen her cavernous connection with the Black Lion, and through that, Zarkon. She had been trying to sever all connections she could with that monster of an alien, but whatever she did only seemed to bring them closer together. It was as if they were connected to each other, pulled into each other's paths by the cruel hands of fate, thrusting them mercilessly together. Allura had come to realise that she _couldn't_ avoid Zarkon, and she would have to face him eventually. She would have to defeat him, for Earth, for the whole galaxy, and for the meagre remains of Shiro's people.

But now wasn't the time to think about such things.

If anything, she was distracting herself from the mission at hand. It was a physical training exercise, and she needed to focus on her arm and her arm alone. Allura had almost control over it, but the fear wouldn't go away. How could she place any faith in a prosthetic arm made by the very people she was fighting against? It wasn't a part of her, it was a part of the enemy. If she used it, would it turn on her? The simple exercises she was trying seemed fine, but if she was on the field and something went wrong - well, she knew it would be her fault.

Allura set her jaw, and turned to the Altean Prince standing a while away from her. She gave Shiro a tight smile, and a thumbs up. He returned the smile sincerely, backing away so he was behind the line set out for the training arena perimeter. He raised his hands, and a shimmering panel appeared before him, a kind of settings for the training arena. Shiro was extremely careful, and he knew that the training arena actually materialised and hurt, but he liked to challenge the Paladins. This meant that the Altean wasn't against any particularly harsh environments, and could go a little to far in his somewhat intense methods to make sure that the Paladin's improved themselves. That was where the two of them clicked, as Allura responded well to his critiques and wasn't embarrassed in the slightest to ask Shiro for help when she needed it.

Shiro slid his hands across the shimmering surface, and slid translucent knobs up and down, his eyes occasionally flicking up to Allura, and then straight back to his control panel. After a few more moments Shiro seemed satisfied, and folded his arms as the arena let out a soft hissing sound. The ground vibrated, and the air began to fill with a hot steam as the arena changed, shifting its form like a chameleon. Allura closed her eyes, squaring her feet and bracing herself for today's strenuous exercise.

The heat didn't dissolve like it normally did, but it instead soaked into Allura, weighing down her lightweight clothes and her even lighter weighted Galra arm. It was a heavy kind of heat, full of dread and foreboding. Allura opened her eyes carefully.

She staggered back, tripping into a heap on the now sandy ground. She whipped her head around wildly, her tight bun becoming undone as strands of pure white hair fell across her face in a crazed manner. Her eyes bulged, she was hallucinating. She had to be. There was no way - there was no way she was back there, back where everything spiralled out of control, where she almost lost herself in an ocean of dark red bloodlust.

Shiro had put her in the Gladiatorial Arena. Not just any, though, it was an almost exact replica of the Galra one she had been forced to fight in. When she had been first taken captive, and forced to become a shell of a woman, a cold-hearted fighting machine who killed for her own survival, and to satisfy other's humour. The stench of blood hung around the Arena, and she remembered how easily she had succumbed to it, killing and killing and killing with only herself in her mind. Matt was forgotten, Dr. Holt was forgotten, all there was left was herself, and her thirst for blood.

She had escaped that horrible place, she had given up her humanity to force her brutal way out, and Shiro had placed her right back in it. To fight, no less.

Everything was the same as it had been when she was captive. It was a complete replica. The raised platforms where the spectators stood - jeering and insulting her - were in the exact same position, an identical grey colour to what they had been back then. The Arena was closed off by the exact same stainless steel gates, an aluminous purple glow radiating from in-between the gaps.

Allura couldn't show weakness.

She pushed herself gingerly to her feet, careful not to put any weight on her Galra arm. She set her jaw, and arranged the rest of her face into a strained grin, fixating her gaze on the general area of where the majority cameras should be posted.

A long sigh radiated through the training grounds, and Shiro's voice rung out, a clear edge of worry to his tone.

"Allura?" He said, his voice slightly raw. "Are you okay there?"

Allura clamped the fear down, and focused on Shiro's voice, ignoring the blood rushing past her ears as forbidden memories tried to force their way into her mind. She commanded her shoulders to relax, and nodded, as if every single molecule in her body wasn't on high alert.

"Great." Shiro sighed, his voice relieved. He sucked in a breath, clearly evident through the sharp intake Allura could hear, and began to instruct Allura of today's exercise. "There will be ten Galra in total," Shiro said evenly, having regained his composure. "Six on the floor of the arena-" Allura shivered at the word arena. "And four in the spectator stands. All you have to do is take care of all of them."

A faint bleeping sound echoed through the training ground. Allura closed her eyes, reminding herself of where she was, and what she was doing. It was not the Gladiatorial Arena, it was the training ground. Allura could do this. She had to. Shiro was asking her to kill the enemy, but not in the heartless way the Galra had forced her to, changing her into a brutal monster, a killing monster. No, Shiro's reasons were understandable - the Galra had annihilated his whole species. They were completely wiped out, so Shiro had perfect reason to instruct Allura on acting so heartlessly. Plus, they were only phantom Galra, it wasn't as if she were killing anything real.

The bleeping stopped, and Allura opened her eyes, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Just as Shiro had said, she was surrounded by six phantom Galra soldiers on the ground, and they closed in on her slowly, as if they were savouring an easy prey. Allura clenched her fists and scanned the spectator stands; the remaining four Galra were positioned at various vantage points, aiming luminous steel lasers at her, squinting as they hefted their weapons onto their shimmering shoulders.

A plan began to form at the back of Allura's mind, the thought solidifying and sharpening at the edges of her vision, as she waited, letting a surge of adrenaline coarse through her tensed form. She let the ground Galra advance, keeping her peripheral vision trained on the phantom soldiers above. They were moving in unison, and focusing their lasers on her still form, most likely locking in on her position. They would have an easy shot, unless something got in the way. The other phantom Galra were a liability, as they would mess up the higher phantoms' aims of their shots.

Allura waited for the ground Galra to launch themselves at her. She let the adrenaline wash through her, feeling every individual molecule in her body tense, sending every cell on high alert, every sense into overdrive.

The first phantom lost its programmed patience and threw itself at her, thrusting a metallic spear in her direction. Allura ducked, pushing her arms out above her, grasping upwards, feeling the cold metal of the spear solidify once it touched her skin. Her fingers curled around its surface, and Allura jerked it down onto the ground, wrenching it out of the phantom Galra's grasp. Allura shifted her crouched weight onto one leg, and swiped the spear around in a low arc, cleanly tripping up the closest three Galra. The outer three were either faster or further away - probably the latter - and managed to avoid Allura's first attack. She jumped to the balls of her feet, holding the spear in her slightly weaker human hand. She wasted no time, charging forward at the nearest phantom with little more than a growl, forcing the spear at its chest. The bladed tip struck home, and the spear was overwhelmed by a phantom weight, as the phantom Galra collapsed forward onto her weapon. Allura flinched away, letting go of the spear instantly. As soon as it lost her warm touch, the spear dropped to the ground, weightless.

It was all just a simulation, Allura reminded herself, rounding on the second remaining ground Galra phantom. She planted a swift kick to the stomach, her foot greeted by pure air before a heavy resistance pushed against it, the phantom Galra materializing with the human contact. It stumbled away, but Allura didn't let it get far, throwing a powerful punch with her human arm, knocking the phantom to the ground - it was out cold, and disappeared instantly, just like the previous phantom had done. She kept her vibrating Galra arm firmly glued against her chest, refusing to use it at all. She wanted - no needed - to know how much she could take as herself, before she reached her peak. And she was doing well, with only one ground Galra left and the four in the spectator stands.

The last ground phantom had a gun, and was pointing it at Allura steadily, its form shimmering blue. Allura walked towards the remaining Galra phantom, and waited to hear the click of the safety being turned off. On the sound, she immediately ducked to the floor, rolling to the side as three curt shots rung out from the gun. Allura kept her Galra arm glued to her side, and grabbed the ground Galra's ankle with her other hand. She wrenched it down, jumping into a crouch as the Galra crashed onto the floor. She wrestled the gun out of its grip, feeling the cool metal solidify at her touch. Allura tried not to think about if the phantom Galra had a family or anyone that loved it - of course, she reminded herself tersely, it was only a phantom - and pulled the trigger, aiming the gun at where the phantom Galra's heart would be. The gun vibrated in her palm, before letting out a sharp bang. Allura clenched her jaw and looked away, refusing to watch the phantom Galra disappear.

After half a moments hesitation, Allura burst into action again. She jogged around the training grounds, careful not to stay in one position long enough for the spectator phantoms to lock their weapons on her. As she ran, she pulled out the gun's cartridges in one hand, feeling around for each individual bullet. There were three left, which was almost one for each spectator. Allura made a split-second decision, and pushed the cartridge back into its holster and aimed it at the first spectating phantom. She pulled the trigger and then spun, pointing the gun at the second spectator. She fired again, and once more at the third Galra phantom. She knew her bullet's had struck home, she could clearly hear the brutal contact, and she could see the phantoms disappearing from her peripheral vision. There was only one phantom Galra left, and the gun had no bullets left. Allura tossed it to the floor, and it disappeared, useless. Her eyes scanned the training grounds, trying to find anything she could throw - or shoot - at the remaining Galra. She had stopped moving, and her whole body was tensed. Allura was completely focused on finding her last weapon and getting the final Galra and being done.

But she had forgotten.

She had stupidly forgotten about her current foe.

The phantom Galra had a gun. It had a long-ranged rifle from the start, and she had given it enough time to lock on her position. Allura realised this, and looked up at the shimmering form of the Galra, at how it hefted its gun across one shoulder. Its finger flexed, and Allura had no time to do anything but gasp.

The bullet was only a simulation. It was weightless until it touched her, and then the whole force of the gunshot thrust itself upon her. She staggered backwards, hands flying to her stomach, which was roaring in pain and defiance. There was no blood there, but her flesh crawled and writhed, as if it was being attacked by the wind. Allura fell to her knees as the world vanished around her, the simulation shattering as Shiro shut off the training programme. The arena fell apart, breaking off into millions of tiny minuscule sparks, reaching towards the ceiling before disappearing. Soon the air was cool again, and the open dusky sky replaced by the metallic silver ceiling of the Castle. Shiro was running towards her, his face creased with disdain.

The Altean Prince furrowed his brows, trying to conceal his disappointment and replace it with confusion. "Allura, what happened?"

"I-I'm not quite sure." Allura replied, wincing as she slowly stood up. "I completely forgot about the last phantom's presence-"

"That _Galra_ is not what I'm worried about." Shiro intercepted pointedly. He offered Allura his hand, and narrowed his eyes when she took it in her human one. "Is there something going on with that arm?"

Allura blanched. "Nope, nothing at all." She said feverishly, averting her eyes from Shiro's placid gaze.

"Stop lying." He said icily, dropping her hand and taking the other - Galra - one. He let his voice soften, and after a pause looked up at Allura with a searching stare. "What's wrong with your arm?"

"It's not important-" Allura tried to deflect, but changed her mind after catching Shiro's intense eyes. She took a breath. "I'm just not very comfortable with it yet." Allura confided.

"You mean you don't trust it." The Altean prince translated, his comment affirmed by a nod from Allura.

"It's not a part of me, you know." Allura said slowly. "It's a product of torture, and it was made by those who we're wishing to fight-"

"The Galra," Shiro said, his voice freezing at the word. He continued with difficulty, placing weight into his next phrase. "Are not our enemy." He choked out, surprising Allura at his balanced words. Shiro was meant to be hungry for their blood, they had destroyed his whole race, and he didn't even blame them?! "Zarkon is our enemy."

"I know." Allura said briskly, biting back a sharp retort. She surprised herself with the effort it took to hold back her tongue. Wasn't it she who had been thinking about the Galra's families a moment ago, why was she suddenly so blood-thirsty? She wasn't like this during the training exercise. Allura seemed to have switched consciences over the course of a few seconds, as now she could only feel a stone cold surge of anger at the Galra. It had surfaced out of the blue, but Allura couldn't compress it."They slaughtered you!" She burst out. "Why are you so lenient!?"

"It wasn't all of them." Shiro said, folding his hands around Allura's Galra arm. He flicked his eyes down at her robotic arm, and then back at her face. "The people who did this to you were Zarkon's followers, not the Galra in general."

"But they didn't try to stop it." Allura quipped tightly, pulling her arm forcefully out of Shiro's grasp. "How can you not hate them?" He let out a long sigh, which was followed by a pause.

"Allura," Shiro said decisively, his eyes locked onto hers. "Do you know how hard you're making this for me?"

Pain flashed across Shiro's eyes, and Allura felt hot shame envelope her, burning her skin. She was inconsiderate. So stupidly inconsiderate. She had said so herself, the Galra had massacred Shiro's race, and she was arguing with him about showing them mercy! Shiro was being himself, the noble prince he was, and was picking out the root of the problem, just the way he always did during missions. He knew that if he took out his hurt and anger on all the Galra, he'd be no better than Zarkon. Allura had challenged him, and had crudely brought up his past without any sensitivity. She was such an _idiot_. And she'd been so harsh with her words that Shiro had actually told her that she'd crossed the line.

"I'm so sorry!" She apologised profusely, feeling her face burn with crushing shame. Shiro let out a strained smile, and shook his head slightly.

"It's fine." He said, turning away from Allura.

"No it isn't!" Allura reached out towards him, and gripped the Altean Prince by the shoulders, spinning him back around to face her. She leaned into his face, making sure he could see her and only her. "It's not okay, Shiro!" Allura said earnestly, staring up at him, willing him to meet her eyes. "That was a horrible thing for me to do, and I am so irrevocably sorry." She sucked in a shallow breath, before ploughing onwards, not giving Shiro a chance to turn away from her. "I was so insensitive to you - I should have known better - as I was so wrapped up in my own problems! I went too far by saying what I did about what the Galra did to your race, I was too harsh and cold. I'm sorry."

Shiro finally met Allura's eyes, and he graced her with a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Allura nodded sombrely. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything I said."

"I know." Shiro agreed. "You're not like that, Allura."

She didn't relax at his empty words. Shiro was just as tense as she was, and when he said those words he had avoided her eyes, fixing his gaze on a spot behind her shoulder. He hadn't forgiven her, and she didn't expect him to. She had crudely insulted not just him, but all of Altea.

"Shiro, I didn't mean it."

He sighed again, meeting her eyes. "You've said that."

"But you don't believe me."

Shiro nodded. "I don't."

"You're right."

The Altean Prince started, his eyes clouding with disbelief as he took a step back from Allura, shaking her hands off him. He took another repulsive step backwards. And another.

"I meant what I said." Allura said, feeling her voice grow stronger. She was speaking her mind, and she wanted Shiro to hear her. "The Galra destroyed all of your people, and you _should_ hate them, but you don't." Allura paused here, and held out her Galra arm to Shiro. "Zarkon did this to me, and I hate him for it. I hate him so much. But you, Shiro, you don't. You're the person who showed me that not all the Galra are bad. You are compassionate, and fair. And I commend you for that."

She took a deep breath. Shiro had stopped backing away from her, and his eyes glittered. He waited silently for Allura to finish, as gentlemanly as ever.

"What I said was true, but it was clouded by my own judgement. I said you should _hate_ all Galra, and that was wrong. The race is innocent, it's only those in league with Zarkon we are against. You are the one who bears the most pain, and I was completely wrong to disregard that. So I'm sorry for that."

Shiro smiled at Allura. His eyes were glistening, and glassy. The Altean prince was so strong for being able to stand in front of Allura, to uphold the legacy of his people, to be one of the sole survivors of a massacre. Shiro was inspirational, and Allura needed him to know that she looked up to him.

"Thanks Allura." Shiro said softly.

"I should be thanking you."

* * *

 **I don't know what I've done to them.**

 **It is not Shallura anymore, it's Shallurangst.**

 **So if you have any particular ideas/ships you'd like to see, drop a review/comment for me!**

 **(That rhymed I'm so proud.)**

 **\- Azume**


	6. Chapter 6: Teacher Shiro

**Hello again, it's me! So this is a Shiro AU, because we need some more space dad, and the real thing. This was also requested, as well as more Klance, which will happen later sometime.**

 **So for this AU I think I'm a genius. Shiro as a teacher. To the Paladins.**

 **You're welcome.**

 ***Oh I'm also using she/her pronouns for Pidge.**

* * *

Shiro felt himself grit his teeth as another paper aeroplane whizzed by his cheek, plummeting headfirst into the whiteboard where it crumpled, and then meekly fell to the floor. A moment later, a second aircraft made of paper flew past Shiro, looping in an elegant arc before gracefully joining its fallen comrade on the floor. Shiro kept his eyes dutifully trained on the whiteboard, and tried to keep his focus on the lesson he was supposed to be teaching.

It was Friday's sixth period and physics. Shiro couldn't blame the students for being exhausted and drained from the week of lessons and independent studying. They were tired, and that was to be expected. They were kids after all, and Shiro would be lying if he thought that he hadn't worked _himself_ to the bone this week with all the tests he'd had to mark and the detentions he'd been forced to oversee. But he was supposed to be the cool teacher, the one everyone liked, not that young guy who thinks he's better than all his students. No, when Shiro took up the strenuous job of teaching, he swore to himself he'd be the best teacher his students had ever seen. If that meant tolerating a few paper aeroplanes, so be it.

Shiro turned to his students, scanning each of their faces, observing each of their bored expressions. He fixed his own face into an easy smile, appearing to dismiss the paper aeroplane incident. "Now can anyone tell me what the Steady State theory suggests?" Shiro asked the class, pointing to the slide currently projected on the large board behind him.

Shiro tried not to smile as a familiar hand raised sullenly from the back of the room. The hand wore fingerless gloves, almost hidden underneath the giant sleeves of the dark red hoodie the student wore. His face was also as obscured as his fingers, dark eyes hidden behind locks of thick charcoal hair that had slipped from the loose ponytail he had scraped his hair into. Shiro looked around the rest of class, but that student was the only person with his hand up, and though it was moodily strung in the air, it was still raised.

"Keith?" Shiro said with a smile, lazily gesturing for the student to stand.

Keith reluctantly stood up, his eyes skirmishing around at his peers before locking their position stubbornly down on the desk in front of him. "That the universe has always existed and is expanding." He said in a low voice.

"And?" Shiro prompted, ignoring the sniggers that had arose from the class as Keith slipped back into his seat, only to have to stand back up again.

"And it's creating matter all the time." Keith said with a growl, glaring at Shiro furiously as he quickly sat down.

"Good." Shiro said appraisingly, returning to the board where a map of space expanded across its surface. As he continued to work his way through the lesson, Shiro never felt the small smile leave his face. As much as Keith pretended not to care about school - or anything at all really - Shiro could tell he had researched the topic they were covering earlier. Keith wanted to do well, and was prepared to put in effort to get what he wanted. He persevered, and stubbornly kept chiselling away at the barriers to his goals until they inevitably broke, the constant pressure shattering them. All of Shiro's students had the same potential as Keith, they just had to work harder to get there.

"Mr. Shirogane?" A voice called out loudly, a pen stopping its feverish workout as a slender hand rose in the air, clicking the point of the pen impatiently.

"I thought I told you kids to call me Shiro?" Said Shiro tersely as he traced the feminine voice to its owner, a petite girl in the front row. She had light brown hair, choppily cut short, which hung around her face, shaping her angular features. Her sharp brown eyes blinked at Shiro expectantly, intelligence laced within their chocolate depths. "Katie, what's your question?" Shiro acknowledged with a slight curl of the lip.

"I told you I prefer Pidge." The forenamed student quipped snarkily, rolling her eyes at Shiro's laugh.

"I'll call you Pidge when you call me Shiro."

The girl rolled her eyes once again at Shiro's retort, shielding her slight grin behind a hand. Pidge was a smart girl, she knew a challenge when she heard one. And she knew which challenges to accept, and which to attempt a compromise. She raised her eyebrows at Shiro, who politely copied her, waiting for the student to make a decision.

"Fine then, Shiro." Pidge sighed in resignation, straightening out the notes scattered across her desk in organised chaos. "Can I ask my question?"

"Sure thing, Pidge."

She pushed her thick rimmed hipster glasses further up the bridge of her nose, and seemed to weigh her question out in her mind before speaking evenly. "Would you say Red Shift is evidence for the Steady State theory?"

Shiro nodded at Pidge. "Absolutely."

Pidge's inquisitive stare lingered on Shiro for a minute, carefully observing him, before her eyes returned to her now organised notes, and her pen began to scribble once again, scrawling letters flying rapidly across the page in a feeble attempt to keep up with her racing mind. Pidge had her head bent heavily over her desk, and she was completely absorbed in her work, the previous conversation replaced instantly by her thirst for knowledge, and her rule of never forgetting anything that may be deemed useful in her future. Which is to say, anything and everything.

Shiro knew that there was only fifteen minutes of class left, and then his students would be free for the weekend. He was suddenly bombarded by a chorus of voices from the class, and taken aback by the raging sea of hands thrown into the air, everyone suddenly interested in the shimmering galaxy displayed on the board. It happened at this exact time every time Shiro taught this class, and he felt right to assume that it also happened in other sixth period lessons. His students were smart, and knew that if the majority of them asked a question or started a debate at this time, they'd get out of doing work - and be thoroughly entertained - until class was over. They played this card often, and Shiro knew that only three of the questions being thrown at him were sincere, and there were only three students in his class who actually cared about the answer he would be obliged to give.

"SHIRO SIR!" A desperate voice rung out, its tone rich with youth. There was an urgency in this tone, and Shiro felt his posture straighten, and his eyes instantly lock on Lance McClain, a student who always put everything he had into his homework, but liked to act as if he couldn't care less in class. His lanky height made him insecure around the other students, and he had a habit of replacing his worries with jokes and laughter, only truly relying on two close friends: Pidge and Hunk. Shiro suspected he copied Pidge's notes over the weekends, so he never fell behind. Lance stood up, clumsily scrambling out of his chair to address Shiro with wide frightened eyes.

"Lance, what's wrong?" Shiro said steadily, ignoring the fear rising from the pit of his stomach as Lance frantically looked around at his classmates, all who were silent as the grave. Lance was a people's man, the class was never silent around him. What had he done? "McClain." Shiro said harshly, jerking Lance's attention back to him.

"It's gone." The Cuban boy whispered, his jaw quivering. "IT'S GONE!"

Shiro's hands curled into fists. He struggled for a moment to regain his composure, and to fix his focus onto Lance, and not to let it wander into the multitude of silent students with blank faces. "Lance, tell me what's gone."

Lance sucked in a breath, his face scrunched up in pain before he shouted at the top of his lungs. "I CAN'T FIND MY PENCIL CASE!"

"Oh my-" Shiro sighed, covering his face with a hand. He felt his shoulders relax as the class burst into peals of raucous laughter, their widely grinning expressions no longer withheld from Shiro behind blank masks. He felt his hands unclench. They had scared him, those kids. He was glad that they were joking, because the bright personality that usually shined through the class had disappeared for a moment, and Shiro never wanted to experience the empty void they had displayed to him a mere moment ago ever again. "You actually had me worried, Lance."

This brought another chorus of giggles forward, and Shiro surrendered a small smile of his own.

"You're literally my padre!" Lance moaned, plonking himself back into his seat.

"Padre?" Shiro questioned, surprised to hear an echo of another voice drawing out the word slightly longer than he had. The second voice stood up, and Keith Kogane presented himself once again to the class, narrowing his eyes at Lance.

"What does that mean?" Keith growled, always on edge when addressing Lance. The two had used to be friends - Shiro recalled - but then something had happened and Keith had completely withdrawn from the relationship and Lance had given up trying to save them. Shiro remembered when they could speak to each other with ease, sometimes without even the use of words, and he wondered how Keith could round so venomously up against Lance.

But the second boy recuperated the motion, twisting his face into a smirk of contempt. "Spanish is a required subject, mi amigo, and 'padre' is a basic word."

"Shut up and tell me what it means."

Lance grinned widely. "Nope."

Shiro felt himself tense as Keith took a threatening step out from his desk, pushing the wooden table roughly aside. Shiro himself strode in-between the two boys, and raised his eyebrows at both of them. Tension was thick in the air, and the class was silent, filled with rapt attention (Except for Pidge, who had somehow slipped across from her desk to his computer, recording the next few slides from the one shown in her notes).

"Keith, go back to your seat please." Shiro in a low voice. Keith rolled his eyes, and slunk back to said seat like a panther. Shiro turned around to face Lance, who stood up straighter to face him, the Cuban boy's eyes sparkling with humour. "Lance, what does Padre mean?"

Lance averted his eyes for a moment, a smile on his lips. He arranged his face into a groan, and then performed his act for the class. "It means dad in Spanish." He drawled, drawing out the 'dad' with fake reluctance. The class laughed again, glad to be in on the joke.

"It was an accident, don't worry about it." Shiro said dismissively, ignoring the class's chortles that followed him back to the whiteboard.

"It kind of fits you though. You totally act like a dad." Pidge chimed in curtly, scuttling quickly back to her seat as Shiro jerked his head to the side. "Do you have any kids, Shiro?"

They were going off topic, but it was Friday sixth period and nothing was going to happen anyway. Shiro let out a breath. These kids would be the death of him. But they didn't have exams until summer, so a break wouldn't hurt them, and there was only ten minutes left.

"No, I don't have kids." Shiro answered, switching off the whiteboard and perching himself on his desk. "And that's quite a rude question, Pidge."

"Not really." She stated coolly, collecting her notes in a pile. She carefully placed them in her bag, before pulling the zipper shut. Pidge lifted her eyes to Shiro. "It all depends on whether you can't have kids, you won't, or just don't."

"I don't." Shiro confirmed before shifting his gaze from Pidge to the rest of the class. He smiled. "There's ten minutes left, and let's be real, nothing's going to get done. So you can either talk, or ask me questions about anything."

The majority of the class immediately began to chatter, but a small group of students casually approached Shiro at his desk, lead by Pidge's brisk stride. She stopped in front of him and began to form a small cluster with three other students, though one of them moodily lagged behind. Pidge was centre, with Lance on one side of her and Hunk on the other. Keith lurked behind Pidge, easily staring over the top of her head. Hunk smiled encouragingly at Shiro, his intelligent eyes sparkling. Lance picked at his nails, feigning disinterest. Pidge decided to speak up first.

"Do you like Allura?"

Allura Altea was Pidge and Hunk's homeroom teacher, and Shiro held a soft spot for her. She was technically his age - a few months older - and had a great personality and a strong will. Shiro admired her fiery passion for teaching, and her strong resolution and connection with the students. He did like her, she was captivating, who wouldn't? But students shouldn't try to set up their teachers, because they needed to mind their own business.

"None of your business." Shiro said with a grin, awarding himself a snort from Lance and a smile from Keith, while Pidge bristled and Hunk nodded in agreement.

"Why did you decide to teach Physics?" This question came from Hunk, and was phrased with an interested eyebrow raise.

"Because of my previous job." Shiro took in a breath. "Not many of you know this about me," He answered slowly, focusing his attention on Hunk. "But I used to work on programming."

"So?" Lance said, rolling his eyes.

"So," Shiro repeated in Lance's bored tone, before returning to the question. "I programmed robotic expeditions to other planets to require information about the atmosphere around us."

Pidge's eyes widened to the size of marbles, and her jaw dropped. Hunk's eyes glimmered with something like satisfaction, as if he had predicted Shiro's fairly spontaneous answer. Keith sucked in a breath, and even Lance was caught off guard.

"Yep." Shiro smiled at his students, who now looked at him like he had just given them a million dollars. "I got a whiff of space, and I wanted to share the things I helped discover with others, so I started teaching."

"Ohmygoshyouprogrammedspaceshipsandsentthemintospacewithyourprogrammingthat'swhatIwanttodowhenI'molderifIdon'tbecomepresident!" Pidge spluttered out a flurry of words.

"So you were like a pilot?" Lance said, the curious edge to his tone the only indicator of his interest. And the way he leant forwards.

"I programmed rockets, which I guess makes me kind of one?"

"Nice." Keith said gruffly, elbowing his way in-between Lance and Pidge. Lance let out an indignant cry, while Pidge just huffed to herself and moved out of the way.

"So what was it like?"

Shiro wanted to answer Hunk's question, he really did, but the lesson had ended five minutes ago. They were running overtime, and all the other students were shooting cutting death stares Shiro's way.

"That's a question for another time." Shiro sighed, waving Hunk and the others away in the direction of their seats. They retreated slowly, dragging their feet until they reached their desks, taking up as much time as possible. Even Pidge didn't immediately consume herself in reordering her notes again - she looked at Shiro, an intense interest blazing in her brown eyes.

"Shiro?" Pidge finally said, just before he could dismiss the class. "Is there anyway we can ask you any more questions about your previous job?"

The majority of the class let out a collective groan, the only exceptions being Hunk, Lance and Keith who perked up at the inquiry.

"Um, Yes." Shiro answered Pidge evenly. "I'm starting a programming club actually, and it focuses on space and the galaxies."

"What's it called?" Hunk called out.

Shiro paused for a moment. He then proceeded in dismissing the class, watching the students pour out from the classroom until only four remained. He looked at the potential club members, and gave them an appraising smile. "I'm calling it Voltron."

Lance broke the silence that followed. "We can make up a cheer or something to advertise-"

"No." Keith cut him off. "I don't do cheerleading."

"Do you mind if we join the club?" Hunk said timidly.

"I think you can teach us a lot." Pidge added helpfully, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Sure," Shiro beamed. "It's on after school, every Friday."

"That's today."

"Well, welcome to our very first meeting."

* * *

 **How was it? It was a little more relaxed, because I'm giving Shiro a break. He needs a break.**

 **But imagine him as a babysitter?! I can just see it.**

 **Remember to review/comment me any ships or ideas you'd like to see, or I'll just come up with something random.**

 **\- Azume**


	7. Chapter 7: Klance things?

**It's another Klance personality-swap!**

 **It was a lot of fun writing last time, and it was commented again to me so why not?**

 **\- Azume**

 *** And in this AU, I'm going to use she/her pronouns for Pidge, who's in it for a bit.**

* * *

"We'll use my app." Keith whispered with a Cheshire cat-like grin spreading across his face, his charcoal eyes glinting dangerously in the semi-darkness.

Lance rolled his eyes at Keith, and hugged his coat closer to himself, trying to stop the shivers that ran down his spine as the wind brushed past him. He seemed to be the only person in their group with a common sense - they had all worn thin costumes, even though it was technically early winter. It was dumb to wear a costume at this time of night anyway, the Halloween celebrations had ended hours ago.

Pidge stepped forward, heavy and stoic in her impressively well put together knight outfit. The plastic armour clicked as she moved, rubbing together and groaning as the separate pieces connected. The armour was a realistic silver colour, and shined like a beacon, reflecting multiple shattered strips of light away from her. "What app is this?" She said testily, fixing her mask to accommodate for the thick rimmed glasses beneath it.

"It's my chooser app!" Keith grinned, thrusting his phone in the knight's face, it's bright light temporarily stunning the genius. Pidge recovered quickly and reached out an armoured hand to clasp the phone, which she did successfully. She held it right under her nose, scanning the surface with an intense gaze before handing back to Keith with a nod of approval. With her eyebrows raised, she seemed surprised that Keith had managed to produce a working chooser app, whatever that was.

Of course, Pidge was right to be surprised. Keith was hardly serious, and it took a lot of coaxing for him to do anything he wasn't one hundred percent interested in. But if he was interested, the boy would never stop trying, and work and strain and suffer until he reached his goal. And his long-time goal seemed to be one-upping Lance, who, as far as he recalled, had never done anything wrong.

"Bet you couldn't have found something like this!" Keith addressed Lance gleefully, a smug smile dominating his face. "All I have to do here is type in your names," He did so; "And then it'll pair us up for _the test of courage_!" Keith ended his speech with a flourish, gesturing grandly. He paused, and slowly rotated in a circle, making eye contact with each individual in their group. His gaze fell on Lance, and he _hmphed_ , before moving on to Hunk, who was standing awkwardly beside him, rubbing his hands together feverishly. "Who wants to press the button?"

"I'll do it!" Allura said excitedly, clapping her hands together as she swiped the phone from Keith's tantalizing hold. She was dressed as an angel, and shook her long dainty sleeves back so she could press the button. Once she did, Allura let out a small squeal, and grinned widely. It took her a moment to regain her composure, and another to steady her breathing so she could actually read out the paired names.

"Okay, so, shall I just say the pairs?" Allura said tentatively, looking at Keith for direction, who rubbed his hands together and nodded. "Okay so going in first it's me and Shiro," Allura cast a furtive glance behind her, where her cyborg clad boyfriend winked. "And second it's Pidge and Hunk," The two aforementioned exchanged a glance of recognition. "And last but not least, it's Keith and Lance."

He knew this was coming, but Lance couldn't help but let out a groan, rolling his eyes as Keith's sigh of defeat lapsed in harmony with his own. They were going in last, so they'd have to wait while everyone else entered the abandoned house, and then they'd have to go in... together. Keith was dressed as a zombie, with illuminous green paint smothered across his face - they would stand out. Lance could easily disappear and leave Keith alone in the house, but he didn't really like the dark himself, and Keith was his only option of comfort. It was a bad option, but Keith was better than nothing. The boy was loud and tenacious - he would definitely distract Lance from the impenetrable darkness that would surround them.

"Okay then, we're off!" Allura announced, grabbing Shiro's arm and pulling him away from the group. They strode confidently towards the "haunted" house, completely oblivious to the fraying pieces of tape emblazoned with warnings draped around the structure. As Allura pulled the door open, ignoring the drawn out creak it made, Shiro turned to address the younger members of the group standing expectantly behind him. He fixed the remaining group with a hard stare.

"Stick to the plan, okay guys?" He said. "Hunk, you're in charge."

Hunk, barely recognisable in his slick black Dracula cloak, nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. Allura then grabbed Shiro's arm, and dragged him through the door, pulling it shut with an evil grin.

Hunk and Lance shivered, and exchanged a furtive glance. It wasn't from the cold. Hunk then turned to Pidge, and she rolled her eyes and told Keith to set the timer. The illuminous zombie did so, and the group began the two minute wait in silence. Lance surveyed Keith, subtly noting how the boy's charcoal eyes had a glint of purple in them whenever he smiled, and that he seemed to have gotten shorter over the past week or so. Maybe Lance had just grown, because it wasn't like people could shrink. But then he noticed it - the Mullet had tied his hair back. It was in a small ponytail, barely noticeable. But Lance had been bored, so of course he'd noticed it. Maybe the others had too - like, Lance _was_ quite observant - because it wasn't as if Keith was trying to hide his hairstyle change. He just had uncharacteristically not broadcasted it.

Keith turned to Lance with a sigh. "I guess we're alone out here for the next two minutes."

Lance grunted. "Yeah. Where did Pidge and Hunk go?"

Keith scoffed, his face breaking into an easy smile. "I thought _you_ were meant to be the focused one in our group!" He let out a cascade of snorts, and Lance rolled his eyes, pulling his phone from his thick coat pockets. He was just pressing the keys for his password as Keith spoke again, his voice light and airy. "They left a second ago, I'm surprised you didn't notice, with that high and mighty attitude you've got going on."

Lance slipped his phone back into his pocket before glaring at Keith, biting his tongue. He was too busy wondering about the stupid mullet's stupid ponytail. Stupid mullet. A scream rang out from the haunted house, and Keith jumped, letting out a squeak of fear. Lance smirked as Keith's face exploded in a blossom of red, and he spun around on his heel, pressing his hands to his cheeks.

"Aww." Lance said in a low voice, slowly, teasingly, the smirk widening. "Did that scare you, Keith?"

"No!" Keith protested indignantly, still facing away from Lance, hands never leaving his face.

"Don't worry, you're the courageous Keith Kogane, you got the chooser app to work, you're so charismatic! It's okay to be scared of a wittle scream." Lance grinned.

Keith twisted back around to face Lance, his eyes blazing, his pale cheeks splotched red. "I wasn't scared!"

Lance smiled ominously, raising his eyebrows.

"I wasn't!" Keith insisted, the purple glint in his eyes glowing.

Lance cocked his head to the side. "Don't worry." He said mock-soothingly. "I won't tell anyone."

"Ugh - I don't even wanna go in there with you!" Keith burst out, glaring furiously at Lance. He seemed to register what he'd said, because a moment later he averted his eyes and thrust his hands in his pockets moodily. "Sorry." He muttered uncharacteristically.

"Look, I don't want to spend my Saturday night stuck in some haunted house with you either. You're a complete moron." Lance stated harshly, willing his hard words to pull Keith's withdrawn gaze back upon him. Keith looked up, and narrowed his eyes, silently thinking of what to say next.

"Ouch, man." Keith finally said, attempting a carefree laugh. "Damn."

"Yeah, well, I'm cold." Lance replied emotionlessly, his face a slate. "And it's dark in there." He added quietly, almost to himself.

Unfortunately, Keith caught the whispered entrails of his last comment and his eyes widened. The mullet-zombie took a step towards Lance and pulled himself up to his full height, locking eyes instantly. Their purple-grey depths seemed more chocolate brown in that moment, deep and clear and bright and open.

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

Lance gulped, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Keith wouldn't let his gaze waver from his searching depths, and was clutching his shoulders with an iron grip. The mullet tightened his hold, and leaned closer into Lance's face, breathing a slow, minty breath.

"You are, aren't you?" He said softly, seriously.

Lance looked away, shaking Keith's deathly grip off with a powerful shrug. "I guess so."

Keith's eyes lit up with a passionate fire, and he set his jaw. The boy pulled his blinking phone out from his pocket, and switched the flashing alarm off with a faint buzz. He stared up at Lance, his whole posture squared and laced with a fiery determination. The boy seemed to shake with anticipation, and he held out a hand to Lance, trembling slightly.

Keith grinned widely, his eyes dancing. "I'll hold your hand so you don't get scared, yeah?"

Lance felt his fear disappear for a moment, replaced by a completely foreign longing for human contact, for him to reach out and take Keith's hand, to feel the warmth of his skin. Lance had never felt such a yearning before, and it had crashed upon him like a tidal wave - sudden and with full force, washing all other needs and wants away in the ferocious waves. He felt himself succumb to the alien desire, and watched - almost as if he was another person, a bystander - his hand stretch towards Keith's, his long fingers lacing themselves in the mullet's.

Keith smiled, determination burning in his eyes. He squeezed Lance's hand once, twice, and then a third time. "I'll chase all the monsters and ghosts away." Keith winked, and then squeezed Lance's hand reassuringly.

Lance rolled his eyes, trying to appear disinterested. His tongue was lodged down his throat though, and it seemed to have completely blocked up his windpipe. His chest felt tight with compressed air, and his cheeks burned furiously. Lance attempted to swallow, hoping he didn't look the way he felt - like all the oxygen in the whole entire world had just suddenly vanished.

First alien emotions, then difficulty breathing. What was happening to him? It must've been Keith. Keith had some kind of air draining ability, or some strange variation of mind control powers. This had never happened before to Lance, ever.

But it wasn't all that bad, once you got used to the light-headedness and shortness of breath.

"Okay, just..." Lance trailed off, unsure of what he was going to say next himself. Keith met his eyes and nodded, reading Lance like a book.

"Don't worry, Mr. No Costume." Keith smiled, leading Lance towards the haunted house. "I'm not gonna let go of your hand. Not until we make it back out."

Lance returned the smile gratefully, helping Keith push the heavy door open, repressing a subtle shiver at how it seemed darker inside the haunted house than outside at an abandoned street at 9PM.

"I guess I'm stuck with you then." Lance said, tentatively stepping into the haunted house, wincing at the way the wooden floorboards creaked under his weight.

Keith grinned. "And I'm not letting you go."

* * *

 **Um. So this was fun.**

 **I'm on a half-hiatus right now, so I won't be updating as often as I had for the other previous chapters, but I'll still be writing this story.**

 **So remember to give me ideas/ships/encouragement so I update more often!**

 **\- Azume**


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